Death Omen

by Amber Foxx

  He felt like a heavy blanket had been thrown over him, suffocating and trapping him. No. He couldn’t have work to do with Sierra’s soul group.

  The only sounds were the ticking of the wall clock and the equally steady clicking of each pill as Sierra returned the aspirin to the bottle. She wasn’t quite in sync with the clock, and the mismatch grated on Jamie’s nerves. “Just throw ’em away, all right?”

  “You need them for your fever.”

  “I don’t have a fever.”

  Yeshi rose and laid a hand to Jamie’s forehead. He shook his head and sat beside him. “You do. Let me see what is wrong.”

  “I don’t need an examination. I’m tired, all right? I drove for thirteen hours.”

  “You’re sick. I need to know what is wrong.”

  Sierra continued refilling the bottle pill by pill as Yeshi checked Jamie’s pulse, one hand supporting his forearm while the other lightly touched his wrist, fingers spread a hair’s breadth apart. “Ordinarily,” Yeshi said, “I would examine your urine first.”

  “There’s some in the crapper.” Religious about saving water in the desert, Jamie hadn’t flushed. “Not that I actually want you checking my piss. I mean my regular doc tests it, not that I see her, but she ...” Jamie realized he was yabbering and stopped.

  “Not good that way.” Yeshi closed his eyes. “It has to be fresh.”

  Jamie sensed his heartrate speeding up just for being noticed. Pill-click. Clock-tick. Pulsebeat. None of the rhythms was synchronized. No coherence. He wanted to pound one of his drums until everything came into order. “Stop fucking with the bloody aspirin, will you? Jeezus.”

  Sierra came into the living room, the half-filled bottle in hand. “You’re very angry.”

  “You’re in my room and I’m tired.”

  “Hush.” Yeshi nodded toward Sierra without opening his eyes. “Take his other hand.”

  She would see Jamie’s disease, the way she’d seen the metal in his bones, the pains in his hip and arm, the sparkles. No. He couldn’t hear it from her. Dr. Farrow would call any day. A kind person who listened.

  Jamie wrapped his arms around himself, massaging his forearms. “I don’t want her touching me.”

  Yeshi said, “We see together, Sierra and I. Like two eyes sending images to one brain.”

  She rattled the aspirin bottle. “I think you know what we’ll find. Are you finally as sick as you wanted to be? Have you brought yourself where you needed to go?”

  “I’m not answering that.” Jamie stood and yanked the door open, an agonizing echo of sending Mae away. “I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

  “Of course. You must rest.” Giving Sierra a look, Yeshi got to his feet. She placed the bottle on the table and he took her arm to guide her out.

  Jamie dragged the curtain across the door, grabbed the bottle, and flushed the aspirin. Gasser was lurking in the bathroom, wedged into a corner under the tiny sink.

  “Don’t like those people, do ya, mate?”

  Jamie lifted him up and cradled him, stroking his cheek across the soft tufts at the tips of Gasser’s ears, and looked at their reflections. Lonely man clinging to cat. His eyes were red and puffy and his hair wild and tangled.

  When Mae had seen him, she’d said he looked good. Everyone did, since he’d lost weight. His swollen glands were hidden behind his hair. The only reason Sierra would tell him he looked terrible was because he so obviously had been crying. She’d also realized he was ready to swallow the pills, and she hadn’t shown the slightest compassion. Instead, her questions had been cold, even smug.

  Jamie wanted to reject them, but he couldn’t. Did she know something? Was there a reason, psychological or spiritual, why he needed yet one more disaster, one more dance with death?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Awakened by the welcome sound of the children pattering down the hall, Mae was confused at first, wondering why she felt so drained. Then her fight with Jamie came back, and the weight of regret slammed down on her. How could she have been so harsh with him? He was sick, and she’d ignored it except as a safety risk driving and as further proof that he couldn’t think logically.

  As soon as she examined her guilt, though, she got angry again, turning onto her back and tossing the covers off. Who left an illness untreated that long? Don had said it could be cured with antibiotics, and Jamie had just driven around getting sicker instead.

  Worry chased her anger. His death wish was still with him. She’d seen it before in the way he rode his bike without a helmet, dodging recklessly through traffic, and in his history of rock climbing accidents and other disasters that left him too damaged to climb anymore. While he fretted to excess about things that couldn’t hurt him, he slung his life around as if daring something to kill him. Him and her children.

  Despite another wave of fury, Mae’s concern for him deepened. If he was depressed as well as sick, after their fight he would only sink lower.

  How in the world was he going cope with Sierra for four days?

  Walking home the previous night, Mae had encountered her with Yeshi coming out of the heavy, carved gate of the main Pelican Spa’s courtyard, apparently heading back to the Red Pelican after a late-night soak. While a dog at the house next door to the spa barked its objections to pedestrians, Sierra had stared at Mae, demanding, “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here.”

  “What? Jamie didn’t tell us that.”

  “He didn’t have to.” Mae moved on, too distressed to talk about Jamie.

  Lying in bed, she had an urge to call him, but a glance at the clock told her he would be leading the morning chants now. Leaving a message would be too awkward. She would have to find him later and sort things out. If things could be sorted out.

  She put on her robe and joined the girls in the kitchen. Brook was standing on a chair to get cereal out of a cabinet. Stream had used another chair to climb onto the counter, where she knelt, getting dishes out. They didn’t like to ask for help any more than Jamie did, but trying to prove you were grown-up was part of being a kid.

  “Y’all can wake me up,” Mae said. “It’s okay.”

  “We like getting our own breakfast.” Stream put bowls on the counter and jumped down from it. “Jamie let us go to the motel breakfasts by ourselves. We brought him coffee and stuff.”

  Mae didn’t trust herself to discuss Jamie yet. She got milk and eggs and green chile salsa from the refrigerator. “You want scrambled eggs?”

  Brook clambered down from her perch and carried the cereal to the table. “Yes, Mama. Thank you. Without that green stuff, though.”

  While they ate, Mae told them about the day’s plans. She had never cut classes before, but today she had no choice. Not only was she too tired to drive to the college or to function if she got there, but she needed to get her girls settled in. “I have to bring a bunch of paperwork for getting you registered, so I set up a meeting with your teacher and a tour of the school. That way, you’ll know him and know your way around when you start classes Monday.”

  “Why not today?” Brook asked with her mouth full. “I like school.”

  The teacher had been concerned about the fears most kids had entering a new classroom midyear. Mae smiled. Her fearless girls. Their best and worst trait. “The school has to process the paperwork. And please swallow before you talk, sweetie. Jamie didn’t make you mind your manners, did he?”

  “Nope.” Brook imitated his snort-laugh. “And we didn’t make him mind his, either.”

  “Well, it’s time to start minding them again. Jamie hasn’t had any practice taking care of children, so he let you do things I wouldn’t.”

  Stream asked, “Will he be okay, Mama?”

  “Of course he will. He just has to go to his doctor.”

  “Can we visit him after we do our school stuff?”

  “He’s working. And remember, he’s not feeling well. We may need to let him rest tonight.”

  The
twins scowled, poking at their food, then Stream said, “But we can go take care of him. We can bring him something to make him feel better.”

  “That’s thoughtful of you. I’ll call him later and see if he’s up for a visit.”

  How would the girls react if they knew Mae and Jamie had fought? Hubert and Jen were fighting. That was why he’d wanted the girls to continue to New Mexico. They needed peace and stability. Mae and Jamie would have to work out a truce.

  *****

  “I’m not sure I can handle two hours of spirituality before breakfast,” Kate complained as she and Bernadette emerged into the courtyard of the Red Pelican.

  “Pretend you can.” Bernadette gave her an understanding smile and locked their suite’s green door. In the soft early light, it glowed against the background of a purple stucco wall. Somehow, Kate thought, the colors blended rather than clashed with the red wall to their left, where slender statues that looked like Eastern deities stood between the turquoise doors to the guest rooms.

  The two women headed toward the Loft with its whimsical display of surfboards on the opposite side of the courtyard. Bernadette paused and studied the temple-like structure that dominated the center of the space, four poles supporting a three-tiered pagoda roof of weathered metal with spaces between each tier open to the sky. Underneath it sheltered a massive rock, a laughing Buddha statue perched on its crest. Four benches framed the rock, inviting guests to sit and contemplate it in the company of four small goddesses.

  “This is a great setting for a retreat with Tibetan healing,” Bernadette said. “I wonder what sort of place Sierra and Yeshi plan to build.”

  “We’re not going to learn about their plans from chanting and meditation. Are you sure we needed to get up this early?”

  “We have to act sincere about being here. And we might learn something about Yeshi. Just be observant. We’ll each notice different things, talk to different people.”

  “I know,” Kate said. They resumed their progress toward the Loft and the array of Fu dog statues with red tongues that seemed to guard it. “I’m just grouchy without coffee. I am curious to see if Yeshi is as sane and normal as he seemed, or if he’s actually out in left field with Sierra.”

  “I want to keep an eye out for how they persuade people. How they win them over.”

  “They won’t recognize you, will they?”

  “They shouldn’t. I don’t have my picture on my column. And the name won’t ring a bell.” Don had registered her as Bernice Star Eagle. Bernadette opened the door. “Remind Jamie about it, if you get a chance.”

  Kate agreed she would, and she and Lobo preceded Bernadette inside.

  The one-story spa had no actual loft, but the large open room resembled a loft apartment, with a kitchen area, bar and stools at one end, two large wardrobes against the walls, a couch, chairs and coffee table in the middle, and two beds. On all sides hung a collection of eclectic modern art. The sliding glass doors beyond the second bed were open, admitting a cool breeze that stirred a curtain made from crimson and orange kimonos.

  Most of the dozen or so participants sat on chairs and the couch, while others sat on cushions on the floor. Bernadette lowered herself to the last empty cushion and Kate parked her chair beside the sofa. Jamie, sitting on a meditation zafu, held his posture erect, but his abnormal stillness suggested low energy. Sierra and Yeshi were side by side, cross-legged on the nearest of the two beds. If they’d been in it, Kate might have thought it was a John-and-Yoko peace-and-love reference, but their perch on it kept them apart and elevated. Enthroned.

  Yeshi bowed to the group, spoke a few words in his language, and nodded to Jamie.

  Before singing, Jamie took a moment of silence, his eyes closed, one hand on his belly. Though he’d seemed half-asleep, Kate recognized his effort to calm anxiety.

  As he chanted the Tibetan words, the vibration of his clear tenor voice touched something in Kate, as if a faucet of cool water had opened inside her. When he finished, the faucet shut off. Jamie looked weary again, and Yeshi began to speak.

  “In my training, the most important lesson was the meditation of the Medicine Buddha. This teaches the Tibetan doctor to see from the farthest mountain into the essence of all things.”

  Kate wished Bernadette spoke ASL so she could sign to her: Is this bullshit or authentic? With her expertise on alternative medicine, she might be the only person in the room who would know.

  His eyes bright and warm, Yeshi regarded each member of his audience in turn as he spoke. “The Medicine Buddha sees the illusory nature of material life. Sees that all things are impermanent and made up of changes. All bodies. All illnesses. He penetrates to the essence and can, through his seeing and his power, begin to alter the course of illness.”

  Sierra clasped his hand. Her speech took on an airy, hypnotic quality. “The Bodhisattva sees the sufferings of all beings and says, ‘I am ill because all beings are ill. I will not be healed until all beings are healed.’ The Bodhisattva takes on the sufferings of others and transforms them. The bodhisattva has chosen the path of the healer through many lives.”

  She sounded as if she was quoting ancient Tibetan scripture, but to Kate any words that came from Sierra’s mouth were suspect, and she looked around to check reactions.

  Bernadette was scribbling in a small notebook. Posey, her face glowing, scooted sideways on the couch to get closer to a big, brown-eyed, bearded man. Rex, no doubt. Leon and Magda, seated in chairs, nodded when Sierra spoke. Dr. Don Gross, on a cushion at their feet, was watching Jamie, whose intense gaze moved from person to person as if he were following the progress of some invisible being around the room. The other participants kept their attention on Sierra and Yeshi, some with expressions of fascination, others with bleary-eyed bewilderment.

  The couple on the bed wound up their lecture, and then Yeshi said Jamie would lead a group chant, to be followed by guided meditation and Tibetan yoga. So far, nothing seemed corrupt or crazy. If Kate hadn’t been to the support group or talked with Posey, she would have assumed everything was normal.

  After the meditation, she informed Sierra that she would be going out to exercise Lobo. “I can’t imagine I’ll be doing yoga.”

  “That,” Sierra said, “is the problem. Why don’t you stay and dare to imagine doing yoga?”

  Finally. The wackiness. Kate forced an approximation of humility. “Of course. You’re right.”

  Several members of the group helped Yeshi to move the furniture and cushions aside while Sierra brought yoga mats from behind the second bed. Yeshi then slipped out the door. Sierra distributed the mats in a circle and stood in the center. “These five practices, done fifty times every morning, will keep you young forever.”

  Jamie’s eyes widened. “You say fifty?”

  A couple in their sixties, a thin, wrinkled woman with faded blonde hair, and a trim, pink-cheeked man with a white beard, smiled at each other. The man, who was next to Jamie, clapped him on the shoulder. “Didn’t you know that’s our secret? Daphne and I have been doing Tibetan yoga.”

  Jamie snort-laughed, the first sign of normal Jamie-ness Kate had seen.

  Sierra gave him a petulant look and began to spin like a dervish. Posey and Magda followed along and Leon tried, though with hesitations and pauses. A few other people spun briefly and stopped, obviously dizzy.

  Sierra descended to her mat for a series of flowing movements that reminded Kate of pictures she’d seen of Pilates mat work but also of some yoga poses. Another thing to check with Bernadette, or maybe Mae. Was this some fitness workout? Why didn’t Yeshi teach it, if it was really Tibetan yoga? To keep Sierra busy? Make her feel important?

  Sierra gave vague cues and never once looked at the participants. Only Bernadette followed her with any skill. After attempting a few moves, the couple who seemed to know Jamie lay back and held hands. Jamie moved through a few slow, seated yoga poses. Don and several others also did their own yoga sequences, while still others follo
wed the older couple’s lead and lay down. Her eyes closed much of the time, Sierra was oblivious. Jamie watched everyone the way he had during the lecture, with an expression Kate read as both confusion and concentration. What was he thinking?

  She slipped her phone out and took a video, capturing Sierra with most of her class ignoring her.

  When the session was over, a caterer set up what the retreat program had labeled as a simple vegetarian breakfast on the bar. The participants gathered near the food, chatting. Sierra skipped the socializing and approached Kate. “What were you doing, taking video?” Apparently, it was the one thing going on around her that Sierra had noticed.

  “It was to help myself visualize doing what you did.”

  Frowning as if she didn’t quite believe she’d made a convert, Sierra regarded Kate for a moment, then looked around as Yeshi returned, full of good cheer, and joined the group gathering at the bar.

  He announced, “I have everything ready for massage and consultations in the conference room. It is the last door in the red wall, near the front exit from the courtyard. If you are scheduled for today, eat light before massage.”

  Sierra added, “While Yeshi does his private sessions, I’ll be here reading your Akashic records.”

  Posey clung to Rex’s arm. “I hope you’ll have your Akashic records read. Did you bring your garbage?”

  He froze in the middle of scooping fruit salad onto his plate. “Today? I could go home and get it, but ...”

  Sierra whispered, “We’re not doing that here, Posey.” She spoke more loudly again. “The soul group will stay and meet after my readings, which I hope will confirm that the final missing members have found us through this retreat.”

  Leon and Magda embraced, then began a quiet but excited conversation. They had to be wondering the same thing Kate was: who had Sierra pegged as the additional members of her soul group, and why?

  Kate joined the line for breakfast. The food was on the bar, out of reach. Without saying anything, Jamie handed her a cup of coffee and served her a plate. Then he sat on a stool and sucked noisily on a dribbling slice of melon. His table manners were as flawed as ever, but it was strange to see him eat so little. Maybe he was on a diet. But that didn’t explain his demeanor. Aside from his brief exchange with the pink-cheeked man, he’d been catatonic, not yakking, fidgeting, and bouncing. The absence of his usual annoying behaviors troubled Kate.